


hold my hand, fuckbag

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Karkat is done with everyone's shit, Karkat's pottymouth, M/M, Shoop by Salt N Pepa is a great song, drunk teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dave.”</p>
<p>“Supreme Leader Karkat.”</p>
<p>“You mean to tell me that every single one of you knows all the lyrics to Salt ‘N Pepa’s Shoop?”</p>
<p>“You don't?”</p>
<p>“Dave. It's a song about sucking dick.”</p>
<p>“So you DO.”</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Karkat and Dave are the only sober ones after Vriska's party and try to get everyone home safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold my hand, fuckbag

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel as you desperately resist the urge to drive yourself and everyone else in the car off a fucking cliff.

 

Do you have insurance to pay the damage on the off chance you survive? No. 

 

Are there any cliffs around here? No again. But you’re willing to look for one, you decide. 

 

It’ll all be worth it once you get to embrace the sweet release of death.

 

A wayward cheese curl hits you in the cheek and unceremoniously lands in your lap, snapping you out of your homicidal daydreams. The idiot in the passenger’s seat plucks it off gingerly and a second later you can hear it crunch between his teeth. Somewhere far away, the cliff of your dreams beckons.

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and all of your friends are fucking idiots.

 

“Hey,  _ here’s  _ an idea,” you growl, snapping your head towards perhaps the most annoying person you’ve ever met. You make eye contact (well, eye-to-sunglasses contact) just as he's aiming another cheese puff at your face. “Let's  _ not  _ throw shitty snacks at the driver and end up dying in a fiery fucking car wreck tonight.”

 

Strider seems to think about your words for a moment and you almost cry tears of joy because, holy shit, Strider and thinking? That's fucking new. You're so proud.

 

It ends up not making much of a difference, though, because another cheese puff bounces off the side of your nose and disappears under your seat somewhere. “I’m bored,” Strider tells you. It takes everything you have not to unbuckle your seatbelt and just barrel roll out of the car right then and there. “Let’s play the highway alphabet game.”

 

“Okay, but just in case we’re  _ not _ fucking five years old, how about you let me concentrate and get you assholes home before one of you has to puke out my window again?”

 

Strider grabs his juice box from one of the the cup holders between you two and takes a long sip until it's empty. He chews the straw between his teeth and props his feet up on your dashboard. “Alright, counterpoint: you and I are the only ones who aren’t fucking wasted and I’m getting tired of just listening to John mutter Rick Astley lyrics in his sleep while everyone else giggles and draws dicks on his face,” he answers, gesturing vaguely to the idiots behind you.

 

You look into the rear view mirror and grimace.

 

John’s head is in Jade’s lap, who is in charge of designing his new, involuntary tattoos. Rose is taking pictures, grinning wickedly. Terezi is on the floor somewhere, but you can see her arm reach up to scribble on the nearest window in red marker. (“K4RK4T I5 4 G4Y N3RD,” her masterpiece reads. Bitch.) All the way in the back, you think you can see Gamzee and Tavros making out, while Kanaya ignores them and apologizes whenever she hiccups, even though none of you are listening and couldn't give less of a fuck.

 

“Hey!” you shout, getting Gamzee and Tavros’s attention. They pull away from each other instantly, which is probably mostly thanks to the latter. Gamzee, after all, has absolutely no shame and would probably still have his tongue down someone's throat if it weren't for his particular someone not being an inconsiderate fuck. “Fucking leave room for Jesus you godless hornballs. No making out in my van!” You reach a red light and turn around, scanning the back seat for Terezi. She's still scribbling on the windows like an asshole. “And you! Fucking stop that, draw on John’s face like everyone else.”

 

She cackles and decides, for once, to do what you say.

 

(John ends up with “T3R3ZI W45 H3R3” tattooed on his arm. Fantastic.)

 

Your eyes focus back on the road. You squint ahead, trying to make out road signs in the dark.

 

Another fucking cheese puff hits you in the eye.

 

“Mother _ fucker _ !” you hiss. “Jesus fucking tap dancing Christ, one more and your fat ass is walking home!” You cover your affected eye with one hand and steer with the other. If all of you die in a car crash tonight, you hope Strider suffers the most. And the longest.

 

“Sorry,  _ dad _ ,” the boy in question drawls. Your eye twitches in irritation. “C’mon, at least let me put on some music or something. Or will that break your oh-so-fragile concentration?”

 

Eyes still on the road, you whip Strider with the aux cord and say “ _ Here _ .”

 

A familiar beat pumps through your van’s shitty old speakers and you think  _ this is it, this is how I die: in a car crash while trying to strangle Dave motherfucking Strider. _

 

“ _ Hey yeah, I wanna shoop, baby _ ,” he sings (and you  _ definitely don't  _ think that his voice is actually kinda nice), which somehow results in John rising from the fucking dead and sitting upright to sing along. In fact, everyone in the car except for you seems to suddenly focus on the music.

 

When they all start rapping, you pinch the bridge of your nose and take solace in the thought that you could still bite the bullet and just drive everyone off that fucking cliff. It's your new happy place, you find.

 

“Dave.”

 

“Supreme Leader Karkat.”

 

“You mean to tell me that every single one of you knows all the lyrics to Salt ‘N Pepa’s  _ Shoop _ ?”

 

“You don't?”

 

“Dave. It's a song about sucking dick.”

 

“So you  _ do _ .”

 

You ignore that comment. “Great, fucking add that to your resume: amateur swordsmanship, shitty bathroom mirror selfies, and songs about fellatio from 1993.”

 

You feel short, nimble fingers tap your shoulder. “You forgot bird murder, typographally -  _ graphically _ \-  _ fucked  _ webcomics, and a Ph.D. in being an ironic little prick.”

 

You sigh, frowning deeply with stitched-together eyebrows. “Thank you, Rose.”

 

Strider positions himself so he's facing her and deadpans: “Yes, thank you,  _ Rose _ .” You’re sure he's glaring at her from behind his shades.

 

The girl offers him a dopey grin and a thumbs up. He ruffles her hair with a dry smile and a sigh, and  _ nope, that's definitely not cute or sweet or any other dumb shit like that _ .

 

By the time he turns back around, the song is ending, which means people are finally quieting the fuck down again. Strider is looking for a new song to play and actually decides to settle on something that doesn't suck dick and that isn't  _ about  _ sucking dick.

 

The world outside your dimly lit van is quiet and dark, with a few yellow and red lights in the distance. You check the time. It’s 2:17 am. Kankri is going to lecture you about your curfew when you get home for sure. You sigh, pushing that thought aside and letting the murmurs of your friends and the quiet music pouring out of your speakers lull you into a state of relaxation. You focus on driving and the sound of Dave’s melodic humming.

 

-:-

 

Your last stop before Strider’s is Rose’s place. Both Jade and Kanaya follow her out of the car, and for a second you think you can get away with not walking them to the door, but then Rose trips over nothing and face plants in the grass of her front yard, and Jade and Kanaya look like they might be about to do the same.

 

You and Strider give each other a look and sigh, both climbing out of your seats and helping the girls inside. He carries Rose on his back while you act as a crutch to both Jade and Kanaya, which feels a little weird, because they’re both significantly taller than you. 

 

Especially Jade, who is essentially a walking tower of jenga blocks waiting to topple over.

 

She kisses your cheek, which is something she does to everyone when she's drunk, and Kanaya hugs you tightly, tells you she's proud of you, for whatever reason, and kisses your forehead, which is something she does to you when she's sober sometimes, too, before waving goodbye to Strider and grabbing Rose’s key from under the wizard-themed doormat by her front door.

 

Rose offers you a parting grin and blows Strider a kiss (which he pretends to die from) before the three of them disappear into the darkness of the Lalonde household.

 

Both you and Dave breathe a sigh of both relief and, in your case, maybe a little bit of fondness. But only a little.

 

They don't make things easy for you, your friends. But you guess you're glad they're around, even if they throw cheese puffs in your face and make out in the back of your van and draw all over the windows in red sharpie and like Rick Astley and songs about sucking dick and you should probably stop yourself before you have an aneurism.

 

The two of you make your way back to the van and you’re about to open the door and get into the driver’s seat when Strider appears next to you with a hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he says. You look up at him (but only a little, because he's almost as short as you are) with your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

 

“Hey,” you say back. His hand is still on your shoulder and you try swallow the lump forming in your throat.

 

“I’ll drive. You look like you could pass out any minute.”

 

You blink in surprise. “Uh,” you say intelligently. 

 

Dave reaches into your pocket and you’re about to ask him what the fuck he thinks he's doing when he retracts his hand, your car keys hooked around his forefinger.

 

“Seriously, get in the passenger’s seat. You’re gonna need to rest if you plan on driving yourself home later.”

 

You look at your reflection in his sunglasses and see yourself nod slowly, surprised and just a little pleased. Dave smiles, your heart flutters, and you get in the passenger’s seat without another word.

 

-:-

 

You know that ‘Strider looks good when he drives’ is a thought that's as unnecessary as it is nonsensical, but it crosses your mind anyway and makes you hate yourself a little more than usual. You turn your head to look out the window at the city lights and passing cars, but all you see is the boy’s reflection. He's driving with only one hand on the wheel, which is a goddamn safety hazard, for fuck’s sake, but you can't bring yourself to care, not really. 

 

You do however seem weirdly interested in the hand casually resting between you two, tapping along to the beat of his music.

 

If you wanted to, you could reach out and take it in yours, thread your fingers together. It's not like he's using it, anyway, and  _ holy shit what the fuck is happening? _

 

You wonder if someone fucked with the soda you had at Vriska’s party, because these are definitely not sober thoughts.

 

Nope. You’ve never,  _ ever _ thought about holding Strider’s hand before. Not once.

 

But you're definitely thinking about it now, and you definitely don't like what that could mean.

 

Who are you kidding. You definitely don't like what it definitely  _ does  _ mean. _Fuck._

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Strider says, voice low, just barely louder than the soft music murmuring through your speakers.

 

“A dollar for you to stop talking,” you grumble back, mostly out of instinct, because Strider had offered to drive and let you rest, and that fact still makes your chest feel warm and tight, and you don't mean to be a crabby asshole, but you guess that's just what you are.

 

“Hm,” the boy hums, thinking about it. There he goes - thinking again. You wonder if he's ever thought about holding your hand before.

 

_Jesus H_ _fuck_ , you think, scrubbing a hand over your face. _Enough._

 

“Tell you what,” he says, turning his head to the side and facing away from you as he switches lanes. When the car is settled, he faces forward again with a smirk. “I’ll shut up if I get to hold your hand.”

 

“Oh for the love of  _ fuck _ -”

 

“Come on, bro, I know you want to.”

 

“Jesus. Are you drunk, too?”

 

Dave shrugs, snickering. “Not more than usual.”

 

You roll your eyes, blushing fiercely and grimacing. “ _ Great _ .”

 

He glances over to you and you look away, shoving your hands into the pockets of your hoodie.

 

“Don’t be like that,” Strider pouts. You ignore him. Then, “You keep staring at me and then looking away like some shoujou anime protagonist.  _ Strider-senpai, notice me  _ \- “

 

“Shut the fuck up, Dave,” you tell him, leaning against the dirty window and frowning. You don't shout it like you normally do, and you feel like that somehow makes it more serious. 

 

Fucking Dave. Stupid, arrogant prick.

 

You’re both quiet for a minute, and as the silent seconds tick by, you get increasingly angrier - at yourself, for being so transparent, for having a stupid crush on Dave in the first place, but also at the boy in question himself, for being such an insensitive fuckbag. You think he’d probably do anything to get on your last nerve, and if you're being honest with yourself, that really kind of hurts.

 

“You didn't deny it,” Strider says suddenly, but it sounds like he's talking to himself more than anything else. 

 

Your face heats up and you bite your lip. This is probably the last thing you want to talk about, with anyone, ever, but least of all with  _ him _ .

 

“Whatever,” you grumble, shutting your burning eyes and taking a deep breath. You want to go home, even if it means dealing with Kankri’s shit.

 

You hear the noise of a seat belt stretching and suddenly a warm hand is reaching into your hoodie pocket and grabbing your own, pulling it out. You watch wide-eyed as Dave rests your linked hands between your seats and squeezes yours apologetically. He shifts nervously and looks straight ahead.

 

You clear your throat, feeling too warm, and squeeze his hand back. Slowly, he moves to weave your fingers together. His thumb rubs tiny circles between yours and your forefinger.

 

_ Holy shit _ , you think, looking out the window, but again only seeing Dave's blushing reflection.

 

_ Holy shit. _

 

-:-

 

“Kankri? ...Fuck, no, I’m  _ fine _ , Kankri, I’m with Dave… Yeah, about that… I think I’m gonna stay at his place tonight… Kankri, for fuck’s sake, I’m sure he's got an extra toothbrush and clothes I can borrow, calm down… Protec-- What the hell are you implying? ...Oh, fuck no, I am  _ not  _ having this conversation, nopenopenope, bye Kankri. Bye. Goodbye, Kankri. Fuck it, I’m hanging up.”

 

-:-

  
  


“Voila,  _ parleur de la  _ Dave,” Strider says, opening the door to his room and ushering you inside.

 

“ _ La  _ is feminine, idiot,” you tell him, taking in the familiar sight of turntables, the string of photos by his window, the empty bottles of AJ by his desk - everything so quintessentially Dave. “Besides, I’ve been here before, so enough with the theatrics.”

 

Dave takes a step closer to you, arm snaking around your shoulder. You hold back a shiver. “I figured I’d set the mood,” he says and shrugs. “French is supposed to be the language of romance or some crap like that, right?”

 

“Oh my god,” you groan, hiding your reddening face in your hands. “Why did I agree to this.”

 

Dave laughs, turning you so you’re facing him, and rests both hands on your shoulders. “ _ Agree _ ?” he repeats like it's the funniest thing in the world. You wish you could see his eyes crinkle when he laughs. _Stupid shades_. “You were the one gettin’ all clingy on me, practically  _ begging  _ me to let you stay.”

 

You look down at your socked feet and notice that they're a bit smaller than Dave’s, like the rest of you. You feel small right now, but not in a bad way, you guess; there's the expected level of discomfort that comes with being alone with your crush ( _crush_ , you think, face heating up a little), but you mostly just feel secure, completely surrounded by Dave's presence.

 

“Shut up,” you mumble, fingers grasping the fabric over his shoulders. “You...you want me here.” It takes more willpower than you’d like to admit to make sure that doesn't come out sounding like a question.

 

You take a chance and glance up at Dave’s face, cheeks warming when you see his dorky smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”  It feels natural when he leans down to kiss you. You close your eyes, sighing, and kiss back.  _ Finally. _

 

You taste cheese puffs and think about how lucky you are.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time posting a fic anywhere. come tell me how bad it is at luftballons99 on tumblr


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